Midnight
by Athena Writer 24601
Summary: They all have their demons. They're all used to the insomnia and the nightmares. What they didn't really expect was this midnight therapy session. Some Clintasha. Please R&R:)


**So I'm really excited about how this turned out! It took me awhile to finish it because I kept getting a writer's block…but here it is! 4k+ words:) **

**Please review! They make me happy and I worked hard. **

Midnight

They all have their demons. They are all haunted by their past. What they didn't really expect was this midnight therapy session.

Steve is first to arrive, his eyes still stamped with images of Peggy and bombs and Bucky as he sinks into the couch. The living room is cold, as is most of the Stark Tower. Tony claims that it's scientifically proven that people sleep better when it's colder. Steve doubts it. The whole idea of air-conditioning is new to him, anyways, but he knows it's warmer in here than in his bedroom. His room holds all sorts of devils and memories for some odd reason. He isn't sure why. Nothing bad's ever even happened to him here, but it's probably just that most of his nightmares occur in there. It's a relatively new room, them having moved into the Stark Tower weeks ago after the battle. Actually, it was now called the Avengers Tower, seeing as it was battered so much that only the _A _in the Stark logo survived. It was funny, how those things worked out.

Steve sighs, his eyes finding the digital clock on the wall. The green numbers read 12:03. He was really fascinated when Clint showed him how to plug electric things in. He was even more impressed with Bruce's mobile device called an iPhone. It was touch-screen, and he still couldn't believe how far technology had advanced in the seventy years he'd been frozen.

It's sad, really, how much he missed. He hates the look on people's face when they realize he doesn't know what something is, or he doesn't understand a historical reference. It'd taken Natasha quite a long time to explain what hippies were. That part doesn't really bother him; he isn't too interested in the strange people from the seventies in bell-bottoms and decked out in flowers. What he cares about is how he needed an explanation, and the slight look of pity on Natasha's face as she went to the computer to pull up some Google images. And, of course, she'd had to explain the concept of Google too.

He knows Natasha didn't really mean to make him feel that way. Nobody ever does. It's just something that goes along with being frozen in ice for seventy years.

He doesn't really regret driving that plane into the ice; he saved thousands of lives, and that's enough for him. But sometimes, he really wishes he'd just been killed. Because he left so many behind. He is seventy years older than Peggy. Peggy, who's living in a nursing home somewhere, unable to take care of herself. He knows she's alive because Stark conducted some research for him. It wasn't really hard, because Tony is a billionaire and can pretty much do what he wants. Almost everyone else he knew back then is dead, but somehow Peggy hung on. He can only imagine how much pain she went through, especially after she discovered he was still alive. He left her behind.

It isn't fair. It isn't fair that Peggy had to suffer through all these years, and it isn't fair that he couldn't have just died any other normal human being. He saved many people, but he put so many more in misery.

A scream cuts through the otherwise silent air, and Steve jumps. It's a woman's scream, and he knows it's Natasha. Pepper isn't even sleeping on this floor, and Natasha has more of a chance of having bad dreams than her.

Sure enough, she staggers through the doorframe, swearing and muttering in Russian, her red hair a mess. The moonlight from a window shines through a nearby window, illuminating her thin form.

She sinks to the floor of the kitchen, burying her head in her arms as she draws in her knees, still not seeing him. He doesn't want to startle her, but he doesn't want to spy or intrude on her privacy. She obviously thought nobody would be in here. She does not like to show her weaknesses to others, and Steve respects that.

He's extremely surprised when he hears a quiet sob come from her. Natasha _never _cries. He knows she considers it a form of weakness, but he doesn't. He thinks she's too strong for her own good.

Steve finally decides to just let her know he's here; he's feels like he's being rude. Unsure of what to do, he clears his throat.

Even after years of Russian spy training, she isn't on guard right now and so she jumps about a foot in the air, automatically assuming a defensive position. It really isn't a good one, but she's so tired that when she realizes it's not an enemy, she slumps back over again.

"I didn't see you there, Steve," she calls softly, her chin resting on her knees as she stares off into space, at some reincarnation of her nightmare that only she can see. She winces and her hands clench at her sides, trying to banish the vision. He watches her struggle, her green eyes weaker than he's ever seen them.

And suddenly, without warning, she's burst into tears. She tries to hide them at first, but her body shakes and it doesn't work. She just can't seem to erase the images.

Her ledger. It's dripping, gushing red. She's killed so many innocents. She knows others tell her it's not her fault, that she was used and brainwashed and manipulated by the Russian government, but it doesn't help. She is still the one who killed. She killed _women _and _children, _not just men. Loki was right about _everything_, and it's getting to her.

She really, really, more than anything, wants to just have a normal life. Be a normal person for once. She even wishes she wasn't fluent in so many languages, because she's heard things she wishes she hadn't. She can't be normal, because she's so damaged and haunted and her ledger has _so much red_. It'd take a hundred lifetimes to make up for half the damage she's done. And then she'd still be a murderer, still hate herself.

Steve's startled by the fact that she's breaking down. He doesn't really know what to do. He stands from the couch and cautiously makes his way over to her, where he sits next to her on the kitchen floor.

"Natasha..." he starts, and she tenses up. "It's going to be alright."

"You think so?" she says, hollowly, raising her head to stare into space again.

"Yes. There's always a better tomorrow."

She chuckles dryly. "Not for me. Not for what I'm used to."

"What are you used to?"

Her sobs have stopped, and now she it's only her voice that trembles softly as she speaks, instead of her body. "I'm used to expecting the worst. I'm used to everything going wrong when I want it to be right. I'm used to being on my own."

"Aren't you and Clint field partners? It seems like you enjoy being around him." It's true; the Captain knows she had a bad history before she was recruited for S.H.I.E.L.D. a few years ago. But she always seems so comfortable around Hawkeye.

"Yes, but...things are a little bit different now. I don't want to be burdening him with my problems. We keep our distance, for the most part. I think he feels uncomfortable, too. Ever since Loki...ever since the battle."

"Loki's gone now," Steve says gently. "He won't be back anytime soon."

"He's still in my head," Natasha insists. "He's still there."

"He played games with all of our heads. He's wrong. Don't listen to him."

She frowns. "No. He's right. He's always been right about me."

"What do you mean?"

She lowers her chin to rest back on her knees, a vacant look in her green eyes that he's so used to seeing as tough and emotionless. "I'm a monster."

Steve doesn't really know what she's referring to, but he thinks it's her past as a spy for Russia. "Natasha, you're not."

"Yes, I am. I killed so many people, Steve. Do you know what that's like?"

He opens his mouth, but she beats him to it.

"No, you don't. You're used to saving lives, not taking them. You're a soldier. An honorable man. The country looks up to you. I'm seen as a dirty Russian defect. I'm not trustable. My hands are dirty, see?" She thrusts her pale hands forward. "Covered in blood. So's my ledger. It's dripping. I can't wipe all that blood out. I'm despicable." She spits this last part out, not particularly at him, but towards herself.

"Natasha-"

"Just forget it, Captain." She stands abruptly, her eyes brimming with tears as she rushes towards the door.

She would've gone back to her room, to cry, probably, but right at that moment Tony comes rushing in, slamming right into her. She doesn't see him, and is knocked backwards onto the floor.

Steve stands up and gives him an irritated look. "Watch where you're going, Stark." He moves over to help her up, but she jerks her hand away and staggers to her feet, almost losing her balance. Steve takes her arm, gently but firmly, to help her and she glares daggers at him, fresh tears trickling down her face. He makes her stay; the last thing she needs is to be alone right now.

"I think the little Russian needs to watch where she's-"

Tony stops when he sees she's crying. "Sorry, Natasha. Did you have a nightmare, too?"

"I don't want to talk about it." She jerks away from Steve when he's off-guard, and he steps closer to her in case she tries to run out again, but she merely walks over to the couch in the living room and sits miserably.

Tony looks at Steve for confirmation before he joins Natasha on the couch. He's never really been good at comforting-that's one of the few things Pepper hates about him-so he just sits for a little bit.

He doesn't really want to tell her that he knows she had a nightmare, that he heard her screams. He hears them every night, though. He hears the others, too, sometimes, and he knows they hear him.

They all have their demons.

His are mostly about Afghanistan. The things they did, the ways they hurt and threatened him. He wishes they'd go away, wishes he could actually sleep. But most of them didn't sleep much anyways. He notices. He knows.

Clint's aim has been a bit off. Bruce spends entire days in his lab, working through the night, claiming he can't sleep. They all know he just doesn't want the nightmares, and they all understand, because the nightmares are hard to face and it's much easier to just not sleep. Steve has been less of an optimist lately, and he talks a lot less. Tony knows he himself has been less of a genius. He doesn't feel like working, and he simply lies awake at night. Thor doesn't talk much, and disappears most of the time to God knows where. Natasha always has those circles under her eyes, and they all hear her cries at night.

There's silence for awhile, until Tony finally looks over at Natasha. "Please don't cry," he says. "I hate it when people cry. It's not good for your looks."

Natasha gives a small smile, but it vanishes quickly as a flash of her nightmare comes back and she cries out from something only she sees. Tony grips her arm until it passes and she slumps over again with a moan.

"They won't leave me alone," she whispers.

"They never do, Romanoff," Stark told her matter-of-factly, sighing heavily. "My demons won't go either."

"What are yours about?" She's wearing another vacant look.

Tony runs a hand down his face, fighting off the tiredness. "The people I killed. The torture they put me through. All those innocents I hurt."

Natasha can't help but laugh. "You killed them indirectly. It wasn't your fault. You didn't _choose _to."

Tony looks angry now. "But it _is _my fault! You don't understand!"

"I don't understand? _I _don't understand?" She's shouting now, screaming as she shoots to her feet to round on him. "I killed people on _purpose. _You think you endured torture? You were fed everyday, playboy. There were _people _around you. You weren't isolated or _really _tortured or faced with your worst fears! You didn't have to watch those you loved suffer and _die_! You weren't rotting in _hell _every single day, thinking you were going to _die_! You're just a _spoiled rotten _little boy! How many actual damn missions or battles had you been in before Afghanistan? _None! _Don't tell me I don't understand, Stark! I-"

She breaks off, a wave of sobs threatening to wash her away again. "I-"

"Nat!"

She whirls around to see Clint walk in, looking confused, tired, and worried. He's immediately upset and defensive when he sees her tears, along with Tony and Steve. He heard her screaming when he was wandering the halls, unsure of what to do on another sleepless night. "What's going on in here?"

"I...uh, we couldn't sleep." Steve says, looking awfully guilty. He didn't mean to upset Natasha. He just isn't used to seeing her like this. He thought she had no emotions, at least in the field. He thought wrong.

"Tash?" He looks at her for confirmation. She nods, slowly, and that's when he knows something's wrong. He glares at Steve and Tony before he crosses the room to her, speaking softly to her. "What happened?"

"I brought it up again. By accident," she says, barely audible.

Tony and Steve are confused. Brought _what _up, exactly?

"Come sit down," Clint says quietly. "Please, Tasha? You don't need to be thinking about that now."

She follows him, slowly but surely, like a lost puppy dog. She sits and resumes staring blankly, but breaks the silence soon. "I deserve to die, don't I?"

Clint looks pained, and from what Tony could tell they'd had this conversation before. "No, Nat. You don't. Nothing that happened on that mission was your fault."

"I should've died."

"Tasha, don't say that." He's agitated now.

"But it's true. I should've been the one to take that blow, not the other agents. I was stupid."

"You suffered too, Nat. You...you barely made it out alive."

She winces and draws a hand to her side, where many scars from that mission lie hidden under the suit she always wears. Most don't know they're there.

They all jump at a crash from down the hall, followed by a serious of curses and shouts in a a deep, loud voice. Natasha stands and says, "I'll go see." She leaves before any of them can argue with her. Clint knows she wants to get out the conversation, and so he doesn't stop her. This will also give him time to explain to Tony and Steve. He feels they deserve to know. They were up trying to comfort his partner, weren't they?

He sighs as she leaves, making sure she's out of earshot before he begins.

"It was a few years ago. We were in Moscow, and I guess that was a sensitive subject for her. She defected from Russia, and she always felt a bit guilty. Loyal to the US, but still understandably ashamed.

"We'd been working together for about a year by then. I suppose she'd sort of pushed all her feelings about her old life back into her mind and not thought about them, but Moscow brought everything back up. She was careless and distracted in battles. I was angry at her. I was afraid she'd get hurt. She didn't completely trust me then, so I didn't know that our targets were part of Natasha's past. They'd done bad things to her, and they wanted her back."

"To work for them?" Tony asks.

"To punish her."

The men are silent.

"There was an explosion. When I woke up, she was missing. Everyone thought she'd been killed. I kept looking. We found out that she was being held captive by a group she used to work for. We think they were a part of the KGB.

"There were other agents taken with her. She and the others, nearly a dozen, were tortured for weeks. Eventually all our agents were killed except Natasha, and they convinced her it was her fault. They did awful things to her. They nearly drowned her on many occasions. They locked her into a closet with the other agents' dead bodies for days. It was close to a month before we were finally able to track them down and attack. We found her, but she almost didn't live. She was severely malnourished, injured and damaged. She had lost the will to live. She made it through, like she always does, but she still won't let herself forget. She still holds herself responsible for those lives. And before she worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., she was used by the Russian government. Did bad things that weren't her fault. They all caught up to her that mission."

Steve looks upset; Tony, for once, has nothing to say. After a long pause Steve finally says, "So we...brought that back up again?" They both look guilty now.

Clint nods and sighs, sinking into the couch. "Yeah. When you start talking about people you killed, and she starts screaming that everything's her fault and she...well, basically everything she was just saying, it's always about Moscow. But it's alright. Don't beat yourself up over it. She wouldn't want you to."

They don't look convinced, but they nod. They are so used to the tough-as-nails assassin the world understands to be Natasha, but this is unfamiliar territory for them. Rarely does she show emotion, at least on the job. She's been a bit friendlier and more open since the battle, and has adjusted well to life at the Avengers Tower. But one emotion she never showed was weakness.

They all had weaknesses. Most of them _knew _each other's weaknesses, but the only one who knew Natasha's had been Clint. Now they all knew.

Natasha walks back in again, swearing in Russian, followed by a beaten-up looking Thor and Bruce. She plunks down on the couch again, scowling, looking like the Nat they all knew, and said, "Explain yourselves."

Thor shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, well, you see," he started, staring down at the floor with rapid interest, "I was very hungry and wanted some Pop-Tarts-" they all roll their eyes, "-and I was wandering the dimly-lit hallway and I did not see my fellow comrade Bruce until he stumbled right into me. So I assumed he was an enemy and attacked. I am very sorry."

Natasha sighs. "Whatever."

"What are you all doing?" Bruce says sheepishly, shy as ever.

"Couldn't sleep." Clint tells him. "You?"

"Same." Bruce and Thor say.

"Sit down, then," says Tony. They obey, and Natasha leans on Clint's shoulder, rubbing her eyes. They are all tired, but they can't sleep.

"So," Steve starts, awkwardly. "Nightmares?"

Everyone nods. Expected.

"Should...should we talk about them?"

Everyone stares at Steve.

"Just...for like, bonding? And comfort?"

"This isn't a therapy session, Rogers," snaps Natasha.

"Well, then what were you talking about before we came?" Bruce asked, curiously.

Clint shifts uncomfortably. "Uh, nothing?"

"I know. I know what you were talking about. You were talking about Moscow, weren't you?" asks Natasha.

"Nat, I've already said-"

"Didn't we agree not to share it with anybody?" she says, voice rising yet again as she stands. "You promised, Barton!"

A sinking feeling rang within him. She only called him Barton when something was seriously wrong. "Nat, they're our team."

"I don't care!" she bursts out, and she tries to yell again but her voice breaks.

"How long has it been since you've actually slept, Tasha?" His voice is soft as he traces the dark circles under her eyes.

She's silent.

"_Tasha." _

"The-I got a little after our last training session."

The men inhale sharply. "Nat, that was at least a week ago. You're going to hurt yourself."

"I _can't _sleep. I just _can't." _She's almost to hysterics. "Every time it's like I'm _there _again, with the bodies, and the blood, and-"

She stops, sobs shattering through the surface again. He grabs her before she falls, and brings her back to sitting on the couch as he runs his hands through her tangled hair and whispers small comforts. "Tash, it's going to be alright."

"No," she says between tears. "It's not. Nothing's ever going to be okay."

It's close to ten minutes before she finally calms down and leans limply into Clint, whose arms go around her automatically. The other men sit quietly, unsure of what to do. The clock now reads 12:25.

The crinkle of silver wrapping can be heard, and Steve shoots Thor an irritated glance.

"Pop-Tart?" he says with a mouth full of them, waving one at Natasha. She doesn't respond, looking like she's staring straight through him. Bruce mouths an annoyed _Not right now! _and the demigod sits defeatedly on the chair facing the couch.

"So." Steve says, and everyone's eyes go to him. "Uh...my dreams were about Peggy. And all the stuff I missed when I was frozen."

Thor speaks up. "Mine was about my brother, Loki, and the terrible punishment he has been enduring."

Of course, Tony completely ruins the moment by saying, "My name is Tony, and I'm addicted to alcohol." As if he is in a support group meeting.

"God, Stark." Clint mutters.

Tony grins. "Sorry." He clearly wasn't sorry at all. But they all knew that behind all his indifference and humor, Tony hid his real feelings and fears. He, too, was scarred like the others. He simply chose not to show it, to make up a completely different personality and embrace it.

Natasha buries her face in her hands and lets out a small moan. Clint's arms tighten around her, and the rest of the team marvels at their relationship. They understand each other so totally and completely that words aren't even needed. The spider and the hawk are infinite, and nothing will change that.

None of them are sure if it's anything romantic. Tony, being Tony, has obviously implied several inappropriate things (most of which ended in a near-death-by-Natasha experience) but it's never been proven. They don't kiss or hold hands. They're assassins, and they don't show love, so the men don't know. But Natasha and Clint obviously care for each other.

Bruce can't imagine what it would be like to have the person closest to you become possessed by your worst enemy and try to kill you. It must have been awful. He knows it's hard enough for him to face the fact that he's hurt some people he cares about.

God, _he_ almost killed Natasha. When they fell through the floor on the helicarrier and she was trying to save his sorry ass from becoming his inner monster, he'd hulked out and nearly murdered her. He felt awful. He, as the doctor, had been the one stitching her skin from violent glass cuts after she fought Barton, before he woke up and she was pretty badly injured. At first he thought it was Clint's doing; she had bruises and marks from that. But then he realized that he'd watched the surveillance tapes of the two assassins' fight, and not once had glass been involved. In fact, upon closer viewing, he saw she was already bleeding from the wounds.

He could barely look at her as he finished the bandaging.

He is such a monster. _Literally. _The team claims he has gotten better, that even during New York he was taking basic orders from them. But he is still an uncontrollable..._thing. _

It disgusts him.

"I-I can't sleep," Natasha whimpers into Clint. "I want to, but I just _can't. _I'm so tired."

She hides her face in his chest again and tries desperately to hold back the tears.

"Nat, it's okay." Clint whispers. "I'm here. I'm not leaving you."

She nods brokenly, unsure whether to believe him or not. It's so hard to, when so many people have left her, betrayed her. It's impossible to know who to trust, but she has a little faith in him. She has a little faith in her team around her, which was why she doesn't care how weak she looks.

After a few minutes go by and as she starts drifting off, a violent image of Loki flashes into her mind and her eyes shoot open as she scrambles away from Clint, horrified. She nearly falls over onto Thor as she backs away, searching his eyes for the blue they'd been when he was possessed by Loki.

"Natasha." Clint sighs, his expression painful. He hates thinking of how he hurt her when Loki took over him. The bruises, the slashes. Not to mention how he gave all her secrets to Loki and he used it against her. She trusted him and he...he spilled everything over to the enemy. He should've fought harder, should have not been so close to Loki when he came to the New Mexico base.

"I'm...I'm sorry," she whispers, and the men are surprised to hear her thick Russian accent. That's when Clint knows she has decided to trust the team with mostly everything, because she always tries so hard to not have her accent. She only talks normally around Clint; sometimes during missions, sometimes in the middle of the night when he comes to try and wake her from a nightmare and she's still half-asleep. Sometimes she'll sit and murmur in Russian as he holds her, trying to give her comfort, and he just sits and listens to her speak, understanding nothing except for how beautiful her native language is. But he knows she hates her accent because it makes her stand out and reminds her of her past too much. To speak with her natural accent now is another example that she's just torn her walls down for all them to see.

"Natasha," he whispers again. "Please come here."

She weighs her options; running back up to her room, where her partner will probably follow her. Staying where she's standing, near the kitchen, but eventually Clint will come and pull her to the couch, or come stand next to her. Or she could go back to the couch.

She breaks, finally, staggering back towards him and collapsing into his embrace. He pulls her to him tightly and she whispers, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he says quietly. "Okay, Tash? You don't need to be sorry about anything."

_"Da." _she says, and he knows she means _yes. _He's picked up a few words of Russian in the three or four years of knowing her.

She stifles a yawn and rubs her eyes, past the point of exhaustion. The other men are, surprisingly, starting to feel like they could actually fall asleep. Usually they avoid it like the plague because they know it will only bring more nightmares, and they all have ways of getting away from it. Tony and Bruce work for hours in the lab, Natasha and Clint train, Steve boxes and beats the shit out of punching bags, and Thor usually leaves the tower to walk around because he likes New York City at night. But now, they're feeling like they could actually get in a few hours.

"Go to sleep, Natasha," Steve tells her gently. "We'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise?" she murmurs, the word tinged with both meaning and her accent. She doesn't care that she sounds like a child. She wants to know that when the morning comes, when midnight's over, she will still have her team.

Steve smiles. "I promise."

When Nick Fury arrives the next morning, planning to brief them on a mission, he finds all six exhausted Avengers slumped on the couches, sound asleep.

He decides the mission can wait.


End file.
